


The End

by Madam_Red



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dark Character, Drabble, End of the World, M/M, apocalypse setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Red/pseuds/Madam_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xavier realizes too late that Magneto was right all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

He isn't prepared for the end.

Not alone, standing before the graves of those he had raised. At his feet lay the broken memories of the children he had cherished. The men and women that had followed him faithfully; made his ideals their own and raised their hands under his purpose. Even in his absence, they had not wavered in the lessons he had taught them.

And it killed them in the end. It made them weak, and that weakness tore hope into their minds. He was to blame for that. This foolish idea that humanity could exist beside mutants. That they could united as one people _together_. That they could place aside their differences.

His children had listened, and imagined it possible.  
That dream killed them--- no, _he_ killed them.

Erik was right.  
The thought echoes through his mind numbly; resonating around his thoughts like the clouds of smoke that drift past him. Hazy. They stood divided for so many years; each an icon of strength for their people. Each desiring the best for their kind. Their similarities should have aligned them. Their differences only drove them further apart.

Oh Erik tried. He tried feverishly to get Charles to join his side of the war. _The war_. Charles had not seen it as a war back then--- but Erik was wiser to the world. He had lived the hell that was concentration camps. He had lived in torment under the thumb of humanity; and he had sworn to never let it happen again. Charles should have listened.

He had been so very naive.

And Erik---

Ah. He reaches upwards, fingers brushing through the tears that are trickling down his face. He didn't think he had tears left.

Erik had died for Charles' ignorance. He had died trying to save them all; and they had fought him to the better end. Charles saw the light of the world that day; the true heart of man as he watched the blood soak into the streets. The telepath remembers crawling through the blood and earth. He remembers the shreds of anger and pain that had flashed in blue eyes. Erik suffered his final breath knowing they were defeated. Knowing he had failed. Charles had held him-- and he can still see the blood on his hands even now.

Then he felt that brilliant mind blank out from existence. Something died with in him as Erik did; hope was replaced with so much pain and bitter regret.

Blue eyes tainted green raised to the heaven, squinting through the smoke that waffled around him. _If only he had listened._

It was time to do what he should have in the beginning.

Charles turned from those graves, the names he had carved burning into his mind's eye.

Like a nightmare he advanced on them as the sun fell from along the horizon, his eyes burning with the reflection of twilight.

It was ironic, almost, the image that Charles wrapped around himself. But it was an image that thundered fear into the hearts of the soldiers that spilled through the gates. A devil they thought dead. He came upon them wearing a guise of purple and red; and painted images of his fallen children crawling over the gates. He taunted them as Erik might have, the illusion of that cynical voice bellowing through the complex. It was so easy to wield the metal like Erik might have-- most of what he did was illusions. The other half? His telekinesis handled nicely.

The building was left in rubble, and its people slaughtered--- faces forever frozen in fear and despair. Red trickled down the stones as the morning sun rose; painting brilliant hues of orange above a sea of red. 

Charles stood in the middle of it, empty blue eyes staring off into the morning breeze. His smile was crooked, hanging off him like a broken memory as he hummed a gentle lullaby into the wind. The sound of it croaked as his gaze fell hell ward. 

Resting to his breast was a jagged edge of metal, warming in the rising sun. So friendly, almost welcoming. It offered reprieve against the dying voices still screaming in his mind. He turned it over in his palm, fingers wandering its razor edge in a gentle caress. 

Yet as he raised his eyes to the heavens, he could not bring death upon himself. Not that he did not welcome it. 

_But because he had so many more left kill._


End file.
